News:

There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old’s life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs.

Gilligan hated the Skipper. Let’s just get that straight, right up front. He hated him with an intensity that always shocked him, almost as much as he was shocked that the fat fuck couldn’t ever see that hate on his face.

The Skipper’s incompetence had landed them on that fucking island 5 years back, and it became increasingly hard to hide his resentment…But he kept up the front of the loveable, dim-witted scamp, even after that time the professor made booze out of coconuts and Gilligan woke up with a sore ass. After that, every time the fat bastard called him “little buddy”, it was all he could do to not shank the bastard.

But lately, Gilligan was beginning to have, you know, bad dreams. In these dreams, he was talking to the professor, who kept harping about how their clothes never seemed to wear out, and how they sure lived civilized on an island that had few resources and hadn’t even been all the way explored. The prof also mentioned other things that didn’t add up, and all of this began to really wear on the poor young sailor.

He tried to talk to the other castaways, but Ginger would just smile her vapid smile, and Maryanne would listen to him while looking at him like he was an idiot (Christ, stranded on a desert island with two hotties, and they both don’t even know you’re there). The Howells, of course, were still laboring under the delusion that they were rich, and everyone played along with the lazy fucking bastards.

The professor just smiled at him. Not the empty smile Ginger had, or the condescending smile that Maryanne had tried to hide…No, this was a small, sad smile.

“You still don’t remember, do you, Gilligan?”

“Remember what?”

“The night of the wreck, kid. What do you remember?”

“Well, I remember that it was really confusing, and I thought we were goners for sure.”

“Well, maybe you should think about it a little more.”

That night, Gilligan dreamed about the wreck, for the first time since the disaster. The ship – boat, really – was tossed to and fro, and was making some really ugly noises. The storm got worse and worse, and then they hit the reef off the island. The Skipper hollered for everyone to abandon ship (What the fuck? That never happened, did it?), and people started panicking. A yard swung around and more or less decapitated Ginger, and the rope attached to it hit Gilligan and tangled around him.

While he was trying to free himself, the boat gave a groan and broke in half, sinking instantly. Gilligan woke up in a cold sweat at the point of the dream at which his lungs gave out as he struggled to get loose from the ropes.

As he sat up in his cot, he noticed that he wasn’t alone in the hut. The professor was sitting in one of the ridiculous chairs they’d somehow managed to make while supposedly finding the things they needed to survive.

“Figured it out yet?”, the professor asked, in his usual mild tones.

“I don’t think I made it to shore, professor. What’s happening?”

“Well, this is where you wound up, Gilligan. Well, the part of you that wasn’t eaten by crabs, anyway.”

“This doesn’t look like heaven, professor. Or hell.”

“It isn’t either one, Gilligan. You see, heaven’s where good people go, and hell is where bad people go. You, on the other hand, were neither good nor evil. You were a drone. You floated along in life, letting that sadistic sodomizing prick make all of your decisions. You acted dumb so that people would make all of your choices for you. So when you drowned, you weren’t really fit for a proper afterlife…There wasn’t enough YOU, so to speak, to qualify for either place. So you got this island. Forever.”

“What? NO!”

The professor's grin changed, becoming more...plastic.

“Anyway, there’s no time for this, Gilligan. You’ll be late for the Luau. Maryanne even made those flower necklaces for us.”

The professor walked out of the hut, followed by the shrieks and screams of the young sailor inside.

To be continued.

Logged

" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

Thanks, everyone. I've been trying very hard to get a few concepts across without the "regular people" filters that I usually employ.

Logged

" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

Damn, you are really hitting home with this new series Roger. I love what your doing, now I just need to get my mask back in place, the look on my face after I read this sent a co-worker running in fear.

"My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant, total amazement."

"My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant, total amazement."